


Imbibe Whet Ecstasy

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Double Penetration, Multi, Oral Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorta maybe kinda a kink meme fill. It ganged aglee, as they say.  Title from a terrible poem I found online.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imbibe Whet Ecstasy

Another suspension. Another departure, flanked by Triorian Guard, from the Grand Imperium, his ardent voice still echoing in the high vaulting.

Shockwave sighed, squaring his shoulders as he strode up the steps from the street into the Academy. His academy, in his mentor’s honor and name. This, at least, they couldn’t take away from him. Not the place, nor the satisfaction it gave.

He’d find his own way to save Cybertron.  The Senate, it seemed, wanted nothing more than to freeze things as they were—or really, as they’d never been—creating some fantastic utopia by force of will, trying to impede the imperative of nature itself. All things changed: Entropy was the foundation of the universe.  Their task, in Shockwave’s mind, the task of the government, was to guide evolution, not prevent it, to make sure that entropy led to evolution and not useless alteration, random mutation. What they wanted, instead, was stagnation, species-wide suicide.

Shockwave would not have that. And if he could not turn them to the light, he’d light his own path. Why else all this power and wealth?  Baubles and trinkets, nothing more, unless turned to a good purpose.

He stopped outside the room he’d set aside as his office, with a chuckle. Consoling his hurt pride by a recitation of the obvious? How…silly.

But a mech needed to be silly, at times. What was a mech without emotion, after all? Merely a machine and a machine could not temper logic with compassion.

He coded the door, sighing with relief. This place was a haven, surrounded by knowledge, the walls lined with data archives, clean and orderly and his.  If it were possible to love a place, he’d love this, more than his quarters at the Grand Imperium, or his various pieds-a-terre throughout Cybertron. This was home.

A sound behind him, a curious face that split into a grin of recognition. “Shockwave. Uh. Sir.” Windcharger looked sheepish at his own manners. “I mean, we just…we didn’t expect you today.”

Ah. That. “There were some…complications at the Senate.”  He managed a credible smile, he thought.

Apparently Windcharger didn’t find it that credible. “Are you—is everything all right?”

 “It will be. Besides, I’m here, and what could be better?” Truth, at least. 

“All right,” Windcharger said, dubiously, but not daring to question outright. “But if there’s anything you need…?”

Shockwave gave a more convincing grin. “I have everything I need right here.”

[***]

“I don’t know,” Windcharger huffed. “That’s why I asked you! You’re the mech who’s supposed to know everything.”

“That’s…not exactly what I do.” Skids frowned.

“Close enough.” An optic roll, as he squared his back to the others in the small dining room. The place was old, ancient architecture from a time long past stretching around them, heavy and ornate compared to the sleek modern chrome of the newer labs.

“It’s like saying you’re the floating-stuff guy. It isn’t precise.”

“Precise this,” Windcharger pouted, “All right, Superlearner Theory Guy.  How’s about a theory?”

“About Senator Shockwave?” Skids had a lot of theories. Most of them fed by holovids and news broadcasts. 

“Yeah. I mean, is he in trouble?”

Skids thought for a long moment, one hand idly tapping the center of his lip plates. “I don’t think so. I mean, not more than usual. Did he seem worried or anything?”

“Not worried, no. Just sorta…down, maybe.”

“Down.”

“I mean, like you know, down. Sad or something.” A shrug. “Look, I’m the magic arms guy, not the emotional-sensitivity guy.”

“And I am?” Skids grinned, shaking his head. “All right, well. I’m going to swing by my quarters first.” 

“For what?”

“Game. If we’re going to cheer him up, we better have a starter.”

“A game? You want to bring a game?” Windcharger gave a dubious frown, as though he expected a bit more.

“What? Not everything needs to be solved using magic spooky outlier powers.” A shrug, as he rose. “Sometimes just being a normal mech’s good enough.”

[***]

A chime on his door didn’t quite interrupt Shockwave’s reading. He hadn’t really been concentrating, alternating between distracted by replaying the events of the day, trying to read, and berating himself for his inability to concentrate. It would all work out, he was sure. But the interruption came as a positive relief, and he tried to mask the haste in which he put aside the datapad. “Come in.”

Two of his outliers peeped in the door. Skids gave a jaunty smile, holding up a gameboard. “Thought you might want to test your mighty wits.”

“I’m unsure about the mighty part, but I am always up for a match.” He gestured the two in, starting to move aside the mountain of materials he’d allowed to pile up.

“Eh,” Windcharger said, stopping him with a wave of his hand. “Let’s do it the way they do in the street markets.” He plopped down onto the floor in front of the desk, beckoning the other two down with him.

Well, it would be rude not to, Shockwave thought, settling down on the ground by the gameboard. It felt…weird down here, the angles different. He liked it, he decided, folding his legs under him, watching as Skids set up the board. 

“So,” he said. “How have things been?” Strange how he could be so impassioned, so eloquent, on the tesserated floor of the Grand Imperium, but so hesitant here, unsure of his own status. Was he their mentor? He didn’t feel up for it.

“Fine,” Skids said, offering a bit of a smile. “We’ve been keeping ourselves busy.”

“I can’t imagine you not busy,” Shockwave said, returning the smile as he leaned over the board.

“He says, as we’re setting up to play a game,” Skids countered.

“A strategy game,” Shockwave returned, evenly. 

“True,” Skids said, with a laughing sort of shrug. “You start.” 

They played in silence for some time, the only sounds the movements of glass tokens on the board. It was…nice, Shockwave thought. Fun, even, to concentrate on a game as a game and nothing more, nothing at stake than perhaps a bit of pride.

Windcharger shifted restlessly, rolling the tokens around between his fingers. “We should bet on this.”

“What were you thinking?” Skids looked up from the game board, his optics just a bit distant, still considering the game.

“I don’t know.  Just like, whoever wins gets to ask a favor or something.”

“A favor.” Shockwave frowned.   “That sounds ominous.”

“He’s right. Some limitations, I think.” Skids said. “You know, you can’t ask for a billion shanix or something.”

Windcharger gave a mock look of dismay. “You’re no fun.”  Then he grinned. “How ‘bout something you can give yourself, you know? So like, I don’t have that much so I can’t ask for that much.”  He looked around between them. That sounded reasonable, right?

Skids shrugged. “Makes sense. You in, sir?”

The ‘sir’ caught Shockwave off-guard, the term of respect somehow jarring with the tone of the conversation. And the evening. “Shockwave,” he corrected. At least, just for tonight. He could be the Senator later, with all of its weight and responsibilities. Right now, he just wanted to play a game and pretend he had friends. “And yes, that sounds reasonable.”

Windcharger grinned. “All right!” 

“Hope you’re ready to live up to that bet, si-Shockwave,” Skids said, grinning. “You’re about two moves away from losing.”

“Am I?” He peered down at the board, head tilted.  He perhaps hadn’t been playing his best game, but surely…no, there it was.  The opening he hadn’t seen before. He grinned, with a shrug. “I suppose I should gracefully concede defeat, then?”

“If you’d like a little dignity, yes,” Skids said, risking a wink. A wink which took away a great deal of the sting from losing. And after all Skids excelled in strategy: it was hardly a shame to lose to him.

“All right.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I surrender.  Now, I suppose, I must ask your terms.”

Skids tipped his head, considering, one hand idly rolling one of the game pieces between his fingers. “Condition: what happens doesn’t leave this room.”

Shockwave quirked a supraorbital ridge. “Fair enough.” He felt a little pulse of excitement, and the look the two outliers gave each other made him realize he’d perhaps just landed in the middle of another conspiracy. A much less hostile one than he was used to.

Skids cycled a vent of air, and Shockwave realized it was a tic, a way of gathering courage. “All right.” He tipped his chin up. “Kiss me.”

…that was....

…unexpected. But Shockwave couldn’t let go of the sudden trill through his systems, at the thought, at the idea of actually doing it. It was possibly unethical, most likely inappropriate. But he’d made a career defying rules and flouting laws.

“Pssst,” Windcharger stagewhispered. “I think he means with your mouth.”

That jolted him back to awareness. He managed an awkward, unpolished laugh.  “I suppose I have no choice,” he said, the timbre of his voice holding an almost uncertain depth.  He gathered his own courage, before rocking forward onto his knees, one palm on the floor between them, the other cupping Skids’s helm.  There was a taut moment, both sucking in air, quivering and unsure, before he closed the distance between them, lip plates brushing gently over the other’s mouth.

A sudden gasp—from both of them? He couldn’t tell—and Skids tilted into the kiss, parting his mouthplates, glossa shyly seeking the seam between Shockwave’s. He could feel tension, nervousness, and a small blue flame like honest desire.

Skids pushed forward, suddenly, their mouths still joined, surging against Shockwave, pushing him back until he caught himself by his hands, leaning back into them.

Only then did Skids break the kiss, the contact lingering into a smile, one hand sliding down one of the spires of Shockwave’s back kibble, his EM field shimmering between them. “Want me to continue?” he whispered, the words vibrating against Shockwave’s own field.

“You don’t have to.” He blinked, startled, feeling he was not quite getting something. But he definitely did want it to continue. Though he had no idea what would come of it.

“I know,” Skids said, pauldron rising in a little shrug.

“I,” Windcharger said, leaning over to rest one palm on Skids’s shoulder, mischief glinting from his optics, “vote yes.”

“I…just…,” and suddenly he felt his back tugged to the ground. 

Windcharger smirked. “I’m going to vote for you, if you don’t mind,” he said.

“I…don’t mind.” His ventilation caught, as Skids slipped a hand down his rib struts.  “I just…don’t understand?” 

“Do you have to?” Windcharger asked, pushing in next to Skids, a bolder hand sliding down Shockwave’s thigh.  He grunted as Skids elbowed him in the chassis.

“Just trying to cheer you up,” Skids said.

“Oh. Well. Definitely succeeded,” Shockwave said, a laugh bubbling from his chassis, deep and sincere. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like this. It shouldn’t have been, he decided.

Skids gave an evaluating look, optics skimming over Shockwave’s blue and gold frame. “We could succeed more.” He pushed back, slithering down Shockwave’s chassis, chuckling softly as he nuzzled his way down the armor, until he knelt between Shockwave’s sprawled legs.

“Succeed…more.”

A shrug. “I don’t like doing things by halves.” Skids ducked down, one hand riding over Shockwave’s interface hatch.

Whatever retort Shockwave might have summoned came out as a squeak instead, as his interface hatch clicked open. Heat and charge buzzed against Skids’s hand, from Shockwave’s aroused equipment. He couldn’t help but buck his hips up into that touch.  It was probably wrong but right now he couldn’t care less.  Shockwave felt his optics lidding, head loose on his neck cabling, mouth parted in desire, covered by Windcharger’s warm mouth.

His spike released with a sort of sharp pang, the cover slipping back, the spike itself jutting out.  He tried to twitch back, half embarrassed, but Skids had anticipated that, as well, it seemed, tipping his helm to catch the head of the spike in his mouth.

Shockwave could do nothing but groan as Skids’s mouth closed over his spike’s head, sucking gently at it, enough that the last thing he wanted to do was pull away.

Windcharger crawled over him, lowering his mouth to Shockwave’s throat, after a quick, pecking detour over his cheek armor, pinning him down just in case he had the capacity to think of protest.  He seemed to melt down onto the floor, hips rolling into the touch on his spike, the hot slow licks down his throat cabling. “Good thinking,” Windcharger whispered into his throat and he felt the buzzing slide of Windcharger’s magnetism slide over his frame, like a fuzzy sort of caress.

“Not a lot of thinking going on,” he admitted, hands clutching on empty air as Skids shifted, to take more of the shaft of his spike into his mouth, glossa slithering a sinuous line down the spike’s underside.

“Too much,” Windcharger said, “if you can still talk.”

Skids chuckled, the laugh carrying over the spike. Shockwave shuddered, his next word shattering into a moan.

“Better,” Windcharger said, sweeping a magnetic field up the senator’s frame, pressing him into the floor.

He didn’t have much choice but to surrender, his spinal struts arching against the ground, spike slick and aching with want. He felt the tightness in his belly, like a wire wrung tense between his spike and his sparkchamber. He was done trying to figure out the ethics of this, instead just giving in to the rhythm and feel of the mouth on his spike, the way the glossa flicked a half-arc around the head with each upstroke, the mouth suctioning with every pull.

Shockwave’s ventilations came in sharp pants, his optics focusing, blankly, on the ceiling’s tessellated surface far above him, feeling the overload build, pressure and heat and the wonderful sensation of the fact that this was being done to him, for him, as a sort of gift of pleasure.

Suddenly, the building pleasure plateaued, and he felt a sudden hard band around his spike’s base, one that seemed to send the rising tingles reverberating back against him, trapped, unable to escape. He gave a frustrated moan, head lolling from side to side as Skids looked up, dentae sliding along the spike’s underside. 

Windcharger grinned. “What? I was getting bored.

  
“I…wasn’t,” Shockwave managed, his voice unsteady, body throbbing with suppressed lust. His thighs trembled, as he tried to shift position.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Windcharger asked. “Not done with you.”  He splayed a hand over Shockwave’s frame, and he felt himself pressed to the ground again. “Now, time for a little demonstration, don’t you think?”

He felt the band around his spike seem to stretch and spread, squeezing and kneading at the ornate overlapping panels of his spike. It felt…wonderful, and he found himself looking down his frame as though he expected to see something, instead of the invisible roll of Windcharger’s magnetic field, the head still held in Skids’s mouth.

The bottom pressure released, and he felt the eddying rush of charge, surging back along his spike’s feedback channels, his body twisting as though to bleed off some of the excess energy. 

He bucked up, abruptly, spike’s panels flaring against the invisible resistance, fluid racing the feedback of overload up his spike, bursting hotly into Skids’s mouth, the other mech’s glossa flitting around the head’s rim to coax the last quivers of release from him.

Shockwave groaned, slumping back down to the ground, trying to find words through the haze of overload, his hips still jerking as Skids gave a few, last flourishing licks at his spike. “This was…unexpected,” he managed, finally, reaching a drowsy arm to tug Windcharger against him.

“Maybe to you,” Skids said, opening his mouth to release the spike, letting one last gust of warm air wash over it. “Kind of had it planned out cycles ago.”

He laughed, and it felt even better to laugh now, his entire body loose and reverberating, as though the overload had hulled out tension.

“Who says we’re done with you?”  Windcharger wriggled up under the circle of his arm, pressing his body against Shockwave’s side.  A chortle. “You’re still able to think too coherently.”

“He might be right,” Skids said, still kneeling between Shockwave’s spread legs, reaching forward to stroke the still-covered valve.  There was a moment where he caught Shockwave’s gaze, a mute question, asking permission.

Shockwave nodded, giving into his body’s desires, his valve cover releasing.  Skids slithered up his body, brushing his chassis slowly up the midline, his spike, cool and slick, pressing inside the valve with a smooth motion, like a piston sliding home. Shockwave felt the calipers spin down, snugging against the birth, his hips tipping upward into the contact.

A discontented hmph from his shoulder, Windcharger, raising his head from his nuzzling. “You get all the fun.”

“Tactical advantage,” Skids said.

“So you say,” Windcharger gave a sort of mischievous laugh, just as Shockwave felt that heavy, magnetic plushness pull down his side, lifting him like a giant hand, raising one thigh.  He felt Windcharger wriggle in behind him, the mech’s belly sleek against his heated backstruts.

And then the sudden dense pressure of another spike nosing around his valve.

Oh.

He gave a quiet gasp, pressing into the presence, releasing the spiral of his calipers to expand his valve.  He suspended his ventilation, as Windcharger pushed in, sliding the length of his spike against Skids’s stilled shaft.

Shockwave released his breath in a slow, juddering sigh as Windcharger stopped, his spike alongside Skids’s, stretching the sleek mesh of the valve lining.

The tension, pushing him wide, the closeness of two mechs, in front of him, behind him, was already almost too much, without any of them even moving, caught in a delicious net of their EM fields. 

And then they started moving, a slow, synchronized rocking motion, shallow and careful, dragging against the valve’s lining, straining the calipers. He felt a wash of his own lubricant, his valve fluttering at the contact, his hands finding Skids’s shoulders, helm tilting back against Windcharger.

They took him that way, a long, slow, rolling thing, charge mounting in careful stages, pressing on, easing off, a sort of rocking rise to overload, punctuated only by soft, sighing moans from the three of them, hands wandering over armor, EM fields swaying and oceanic until Shockwave could take no more, his pelvic frame shuddering, his vocalizer bursting into a high keen of sound, valve crushing the spikes inside it together.  Bliss burst over his sensor net, his systems fuzzing with charge before it dissipated into a lush, rich blanket over them.

He groaned, Windcharger behind him idly nibbling at his neck, Skids, still grinning, purring against him, sated and drowsy.  Shockwave tried to come up with words, but they slipped away, dissolving into the haze of pleasure, so that all he could do was sigh, melting into the moment.

"That's more like it," Windcharger murmured, the words adding a delicious, teasing vibration to the pleasurable fuzz around them. He smiled, his mouthplates stretching against Shockwave's neck. "Finally speechless." 


End file.
